


In the old Alexandria

by Pikkulef



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8442217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikkulef/pseuds/Pikkulef
Summary: Mimi comes back to London, a couple of years after the turn of the century.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This happens after the end of s5, so spoilers and sadness ahead. 
> 
> PS: I'm so good at titles. *facepalm*

  The crowd was so big. When was the last time she had been to London? Six months, one year ago?  As always, and same as today, quickly, for affairs, to resolve the problems and debts her defunct husband – God rest his old soul – had left her. More debts and problems than she would have thought of, frankly. And what she had been bitterly joking about had happened so fast she had barely had the time to get to know her husband, and realize there was actually  more to him than a fortune. Well, actually, more in terms of heart, a lot less in terms of money. But when had she started to think life would go easy?  
  
        As time had passed, the crowd had faded, and changed. Where had she been going? She’d been lost in thoughts, worries, and old memories, and here she was, walking old streets, along crumbling walls plastered in colourful posters, the smell of warm pastries suddenly mingling with uglier emanations. She looked up. Whitechapel. Of course. She rolled her eyes. There was nothing left for her there. Or so little. The theatre had been sold. But since she was in the vicinity, why not have a look at it? See how it faired without her.  Not to revive old memories – that, that was a mistake. She blew air out of her nose and started walking at a brisker pace. People were looking. That lady all dressed up was a sight – and with a strange look on her face, probably.  
  
        A swift turn, and… of course. Again. Nothing lived on in Whitechapel, how could she had been so blind? In the couple of years she had left it, after all the time and heart, all the dedication she had in losing herself, drowning her feelings and memories in this place, all of this for it to break down. And close. Again. She stayed on the porch, looking up, her hand on her mouth, for what seemed like hours.  
  
        Then she lit up a cigarette, and decided to have a look around. Front door was closed and barred, but she knew this place like the back of her hand, and after a little climbing and walking through cobwebs, she ended up in the backroom.  
It had not changed much; she had conceded the walls as well as everything inside, made it a nice deal people wouldn’t refuse, so she could bury this and be done with it. The theatre might be closed off, but she was clearly trespassing. All the dresses and costumes were still there, all the sets and decorations, everything. It must have been a recent blow – she just hadn’t noticed the dates on the placards. She walked through it all as if in a dream, touching this and that, feeling the satin of a dress here, ruffling feathers from an elaborated hat there. There was just enough light coming in through cracks between the planks that barred the windows for her to see her way around, up, to her old manager office.  
  
        Her desk. Her things. It had been a folly to leave all this to someone else to do as they pleased. Yet she believed she needed to let it all go. Maybe it had been a mistake.  
  
        Speaking of mistakes.  
  
        The gramophone was still there, too. Edmund’s excitation at its arrival had been communicative. They had spent such a nice evening. Such nice evenings, actually – his courtesy calls, that had felt somehow forced for both of them at first, had slowly grown into something else over time. Into times she had caught herself expecting at the time, and now remembered with fondness.  
She blew the thin layer of dust off the machine, turned the handle a number of times, then carefully placed the diamond point on the track of the disc that was still lying there, and actioned it. A faint, crackling violin filled the air. She lit up another cigarette, sat down, and started crying.  
  
        The music had faded for quite a long time. She was drying her eyes and thinking of leaving when a grating noise made her turn and reach for her pocket. Resourceful ladies never forget to bring something to keep themselves safe while travelling to London. And this was Whitechapel.  
  
        A big, black silhouette filled the darkness of the doorframe. She aimed at it.  
“I am not versed into guns, but if you move further, be certain that I will use this one.  
“Oh, I am certain, indeed.”  
She couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of this voice. Edmund Reid walked in, holding his hat in front of him. Would he have worn it, she would have recognized him right away.    
“Miss Morton.  
“It’s Madam, now, as you should know.  
“Ah. Yes. I am sorry. Madam.”  
She looked him in the eye. He looked tired. And lonely. Happy to see a known face amongst the crowd he faced everyday. She knew how it felt.  
“You can get back to Miss, she sighed. I’m a mourning widow now.  
“My condolences.” A silence. “You certainly don’t look like you are mourning.  
She waved the question and condolences away.  
“It’s been more than a year past. How come you find me here?  
“Reports of an overdressed lady trespassing the old Alexandria. I thought it worthy of my own eyes, before sending in the whole station.” He paused and walked up, closer to her. “I’m glad I followed my instincts.”  
  
        She was both happy and terrified of seeing him here. The same man, same voice, same clothes, it was like he was stuck in time, in place, a ghost haunting the streets of Whitechapel for all eternity.  
  
        Except…  
  
        “You have grayed, inspector.”  
He lightly touched his temple and smiled. “Time does have a grasp on me, it seems. You, on the other hand, have not aged a day, Miss Morton.”    
She was going to correct him once again when she saw the smile on his face. She had learned some time ago that the inspector could indeed play this kind of game, and was not remotely bad at it. She offered him a cigarette and leaned back on her desk.  
“Then what can I do for you, Mr Reid?”  
He looked at her, not saying anything, for a long, long time. She thought she knew his loneliness – but she could now see, more, feel it into her bones, that she had no idea of the extent of it. To all but her, right now, he might as well have been this ghost.  
  
        At last, when she felt she wouldn’t be able to bear his gaze for much longer, he turned away, and slowly, deliberately fiddled with the gramophone once again. There was nothing in him left of that energy he had, that one time he had burst in her office with the wooden box under his arm, eager to try it, and share this new thing with her. It felt like a faint, a very faint echo of these times.  
Yet when he turned around there was a smile, albeit a little sad, on his face. He held up his hands towards her.  
“You can allow me what I should have asked you then. Shall we dance?”  
She could not refuse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended as a one shot... and then this happened. Not sure how I feel about this one... ANGST ANGST EVERYWHERE

They had danced. Slowly, following the tune, and cautiously, as the manager’s office was not a ballroom hall and was quite crowded. It had been hard at first to look him in the eye, but in the end she couldn’t detach her gaze from him, just looking at her, smiling back. It warmed her heart to see him so.

Suddenly, he stood still. She looked around, surprised.   
“The music has stopped…” His voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I know not when.”  
She chuckled at his sheepish smile.   
“Come on, Edmund, you know this is the contrary of a problem.” Her hand on his lapel, she looked around, not detaching herself from him yet. “Do you think the new owners would have left with all the bottles, or do we have something left to drink here?”  
“Mimi, I – ah, I should be going.” She noticed his hand had stayed on her waist, and he also had placed there the one she had released, when these hands started to shiver. He motioned to step away. She followed his step, keeping his hands firmly where they were, saying nothing, gazing intently at him. “It’s midday, and I have many things to -      
“Whitechapel can survive without its dear inspector Reid for a day. Don’t you think you deserve it, Edmund? I think we both do.” She led him to a settee that had seen better days, which released a puff of dust when she gently forced him to sit. She sighed at the sight of it, but regained her mood right away. “Here,” she said, pointing her finger to his nose, “you stay.”

She opened the drawer that she used to keep as a bar, but of course it was empty. She looked in all the furniture where there could be a hidden bottle, but none was left. She briefly wondered as to whom she had sold this theatre to, who left all kinds of costumes and contraptions behind, but not the alcohol.

She turned, hands on her hips, to see Edmund had obviously resigned to stay with her, as he had neatly folded his coat on her desk, next to his hat, and had returned to sit on the settee. He stayed silent, solemnly looking at her, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes she was there. Frankly, she couldn’t believe it either. But she was not the kind to wallow in the past and ask questions about the future. She did what she felt right at the time. And right now, it felt right to stay here, with him. To hell with the trains she was probably going to miss.

“Well, it seems I have sold my beloved theatre to a drunk. Or it was raided since. But I’m sure my own best hiding place has not been raided.” She turned around the desk and disappeared behind it. There was a loose plank in the floor right under. It hid her most expensive, favourite whisky, and she thought she remembered she had forgotten to take it, in her hurry to erase all things from Whitechapel. Indeed, after fighting with the plank for a little while, she uncovered a half full bottle, covered in dust. She stopped right before taking it. This was the best of hiding places. Only she knew about it. Only she, and a certain Captain.

“Mimi, are you alright?”  
Edmund had walked up to the desk, and was tall enough to get a look behind it. He was surely wondering what she was doing, crouching there nursing a dusty bottle. She looked up at him. Think about here and now. Not then.    
The true concern she could read on his face did not make her forget, but it eased her pain. They were both mourning so many. She smiled at him, and realised she did not need to force it.   
 “I am okay, Edmund, I will not be defeated by mere dust. I got it.” She showed him the bottle. “Best whisky I’ve ever owned. Go back to the settee, I’ll fix us two glasses.”  
He did as he was told, concern still there in his eyes. He must have got something; the inspector was not an unwise man, and he probably knew what brand of whisky his old surgeon favoured. But he was also smart enough not to raise it. 

After checking the drink was still good, she brought the glasses, and stayed up in front of him to clink them – he was so tall, it was best this way to keep up with him. Besides, she didn’t think it was a good idea to sit next to him. Not yet, as she didn’t know where she wanted this to go, and didn’t know what kind of man he was in this kind of situation. She had clearly felt his hands earlier. For now, she tried to convince herself, she just wanted to share some time with him. Not snuggle him. No, definitely not.

They drank in silence, Edmund looking intently at her over his glass. She returned his gaze with a smile. When she offered a second drink, he held up his glass for her to take it. She did and, on a hint, placed her free hand on his cheek.   
He leaned on it, as if he had been craving this touch for a very, very long time, and closed his eyes in a sigh. She lightly stroked his faint stubble, feeling the warmth of his skin, then followed his jaw to his temple, where she stopped.   
“I have never noticed you had a scar there.”   
He took his time to open his eyes and answer, again in a very low voice. “Are you sure? You were already… ah. Mingling with the lot of us, at this time, weren’t you?” He had placed his own hand over hers.    
“You were shot.   
“Twice. By no one else than our dear Miss Susan.”  
He was now cradling her hand in his, stroking it gently, but his mind, just as his gaze, was away from her, suddenly. She thought to try and revive the conversation, but all she could say was “I had not known it was her who… but, hah.” She waved. “It doesn’t surprise me. This woman. Fierce and proud. We could have been such great enemies. Yet I had grown fond of her…”  
Edmund sighed once again, this time a halted breath, tension building again in his shoulders. He shook his head. Then he talked, and it felt as if he had been meaning to say it out loud for a long time, but had no one to tell it to.   
“I wish I had bargained more for her, Mimi. I wish I had saved her from the rope. If she deserved it, if she deserved to die for what she had done, I did, too.” He spoke slowly, still keeping her hands in his.  “She was not an evil woman; she only wanted to protect what, and who, she held dear. She and I were, in this case, not so different. Maybe, if she had been saved… they would both –   
“As if the Captain was not stubborn enough to lose his life this foolishly anyway.” She cut him dryly. Her voice was more soothing when she spoke up again.    
“You did not place the rope around her neck, Edmund. You did not – ” It was hard to get it out, but it was true, wasn’t it? Stubborn Captain. “ – force Matthew to show off and play hero once again either.” She stepped back, to lit a cigarette and get room to think, and he reluctantly released her hand, letting his own arms rest on his thighs, head low. 

She smoked silently, thinking of what to say now, wondering if it was a good idea or if it was a sign she should just run and be off for good. But for all the darkness he seemed to bring with him everywhere he went, she had learnt to like this man. It was heart-breaking to see him still here, still soldiering on, yet so low. She had missed him, dearly. But not this side of him.   
He was slowly getting up, obviously wanting to leave, when she crushed her fag under her foot and pushed him gently back where he was sitting. She stayed close, still standing in front of him. Enough banter from her – and she was an expert in this. Time was to lay things down. And she could be good for this too. She had been, years ago. Being starkly honest was her weakness. Besides, it would both be a relief for her to say, and for him to listen to. All of it. She took in a deep breath.

“You do seem to want to bear all the misery of the world on your shoulders, Edmund. But I will tell you, I am not fond of martyrs. They make me uncomfortable. I know you are full of guilt, for past mistakes and undone things, unsaid words. I know more than you probably think of; the Captain is – was – quite observant, and not the kind to keep secrets during pillow talk, you know. Besides, I am a very curious woman. And that shaped how I saw you at the beginning; excuse my French, but an uptight, self-righteous bitter arsehole with a fixed idea of getting back his past life whatever the costs.  And you acted this part very well. Hush!”

She stopped when he began stirring, weakly trying to defend himself. This, in itself, was a testimony to how weary the inspector must have been. She stayed silent, with a stern expression, until he looked back at her, his eyes rimmed red. She shook her head, and placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling him tense under her touch.  
“Now,” she started again, softly, “later, I discovered, and frankly was quite surprised, that there was a very different person behind this. An educated man, who could be captivating, sometimes even funny and witty, and caring. With a passionate mind, for all things from science to the littlest work of man in the streets. And people. With a deep faith and hope in progress and the future of humanity.” She paused. He was still tense, but made no move to leave or protest whatsoever, now. “A man I grew to like, and later deeply missed.” It wasn’t enough to convey how she felt about him, all these contradictory feelings she had, mingled together, but she felt he’d understand. Because they had lived through the end of it, and had tried to live on. Helping each other do so.

But she had a little more to say. “I do not think there could be a better man for policing these godforsaken streets, because, and that is your best quality, deeply, you are human. As much as you want to hide it, behind your talk of the darkness in yourself and others, you have this deeply rooted faith and hope in everyone’s future. Except for one.”

She took his head in her hands, his cheeks now as red as his eyes. He was avoiding her gaze. She patiently waited until he looked at her once again, swiftly, not long enough to notice her eyes were red, too. Good.    
“For now, I wish you had some hope in Edmund Reid.”    
She let her hands fall once again on his shoulders, seeing him close his eyes and sigh. Slowly, he let his head down, to rest his forehead against her, and raised his arms to embrace her, his hands on her lower back. After a while, she allowed herself to raise her own hands back to his head, skimming her fingers through his hair. She saw his shoulders, then his full body relax gradually under her touch. His voice came up, almost too low and muffled by her dress for her to make out his words.  
“Miss Morton, you – are too good for this Earth.”  
“I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last part.  
> Thank you so much for beta-ing, @grumpyqueer !! (and here you see I don't know how to write your name here either)
> 
> This chapter starts a few short minutes after the end of chapter 2.

“Oh dear, Edmund, I have messed up your hair. A gentleman like you cannot get out of here like this. People will talk.”  
Edmund slowly straightened up, almost reluctantly separating from her, and looked up at her with a half smile on his lips. He took her hand and kissed it, very chastely, as gentlemen do.  
“I can find a way to hide this affront” he said, tilting his head towards his hat on the desk.

There, at the sight of him, the dishevelled hair on his forehead, the sadness lingering in his eyes still, but slightly lightened up by his smile, she couldn’t resist. There was nothing chaste in the way she kissed him, but to her defence, and surprise, his response to it was neither. He stood up, pulling her towards him, closer, embracing her. He stopped to look at her, swiftly licking his lips, about to say something; but she pulled him back before he could, gently biting his lips this time. Not parting from him, she chuckled when he let out a muted groan. She still had some things to learn about Edmund Reid, it seemed. She was realising her feet were not touching the ground anymore when there was a knock on the door.

They stopped, looking at each-other, surprised, and she could see his smile decomposing. Out of breath, he finally let her down, straightened his vest, and turned towards the door. Suddenly he halted, turned around yet again, and in a quick stride, he was in front of her, replacing a bunch of stray hair behind her ears. God. He was not the only one who would have to hide messed up hair, it seemed. She muttered a curse under her breath as he opened the door: she should have run to hide behind the desk, anywhere. Too late.

A very young and very flustered constable was about to knock again and almost knocked on Edmund’s chest.  
“Chief inspector. Sir. Miss. Mrs. I’m – I’m sorry, sir.  
“And what is the matter, Barnes?” Was it her, or was he trying to sound menacing? If so, it worked, as the poor constable looked terrified.  
“It’s – it’s the docks, sir. The docks. I got sent to you. Sir.  
“Well –“ She could see and hear Edmund trying to hide his frustration, and above all trying to be more gentle with the boy. His voice softened. “What about the docks?”   
“Riot. Sir. Big riot. Ssss – the, the Yard wants you there. Sir. Inspector.  
“All right. First, Barnes, you calm down. You will do so outside while I settle this conversation I was having with Mrs here,” He didn’t flinch nor move while saying this. “I am coming right away, and by then you will have your thoughts lined up and you’ll be ready to tell me all I need to know as we walk to the docks. Is it all right for you, constable?  
“But, sir, it’s urgent –  
“Do you doubt me when I say that I will be there right away, then?” Mimi had to walk out of sight of the boy, as she felt she was going to burst out laughing, seeing the poor constable liquefy on the door step.  
“Barnes, you go down. I am right behind you.” As Barnes didn’t move, Edmund gestured and said, as gently as he could: “Well, off you go, now...”  
“Yes, sir. G-good bye, madam.” She could hear him almost run away down the stairs and let her laugh out as soon as Edmund had closed the door, wiping tears from her eyes.  


“Poor, poor lad,” she said as she walked back to him, trying to suppress a last chuckle.   
“It is his first week. The boy is terrified of me. I try not to give him reasons to be, but…  
“You are indeed terrifying, Edmund.” She took his hands. He was looking away again.   
“Alas… I am so sorry, Mimi. I have to go. Maybe… maybe it’s for the best that we…  
“Oh, please, shut up, Edmund.” Hand on his nape to make him bend, yet still on tiptoes, she gave him another kiss, which she ended by kissing his neck. She was glad to notice the pink in his cheeks was back when she stood back on her heels.  
“I have many things to do in the near future that will bring me back to London. I do hope I will find Whitechapel still guarded by its Inspector Reid then.  
“Mimi, you are a widow, and –  
“And what? I do not ask you to marry me, Edmund. All I want…” She sighed. He looked fearful. For hope. She smiled at him. “I was never fit for marriage. I for now would be this old, rich widow, a patron for young and beautiful artists. That I would take to my bed in retribution.” She chuckled and placed her hand back on his cheek. “Or maybe I will only find a slightly older man there. And not an artist that I know of, but he may yet hide surprises, who knows. What do you think about this, Edmund? Should I come back?”  
His voice was as always courteous and even a hint cheerful, but his eyes were pleading. “Please, Mimi. Miss Morton. You will always be welcomed in Whitechapel.”  



End file.
